The Fall of the Sun Hater
by AwesomenessIsWhatTheyCallMe16
Summary: Serana and the Dragonborn are alone in the wilderness when she starts to feel the consequences for not feeding in a few centuries. The only person pumping with blood is the one she needs to defeat her crazy dad. What is she, or the dragonborn going to do? Follows up to the defeat of Harkon with minor changes in the plot. Rated T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is my first fanfic.

Serana looked like a corpse under the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. Strictly speaking, she was undead, but she brought a whole new meaning to the term. Her usual fair skin was now a sick, pasty color and she couldn't even find the strength to keep her eyes open. Nonetheless, she protested -more or less mumbled- that she was fine, but Whitland found her hard to believe since she had just nearly fainted.

He searched her for wounds or anything that could be causing her distress, but didn't find so much as a single bruise. And vampires were supposed to be completely resistant to any kind of diseases. His eyes wandered to the tight armor she was wearing, unless whatever was ailing her was in someplace that would betray her modesty.

He managed to rein in his blush and had banned such thoughts when Serana let out a low moan. Goosebumps stole across his skin and he was seriously thinking of damning modesty when she spoke,

"You won't find anything wrong with me, not from what you see now or anywhere else."

Whitland swore he saw her lips momentarily twitch to form a smirk as she read his mind.

He did his best to ignore that. "Then what is causing you to be in such a state?" he asked.

"Move me into some shade first."

He complied and searched for a spot that would suit her needs. It didn't take long. While Skyrim wasn't known for its big leafy trees, it had plenty of rocky outcroppings that could provide shade. Gently gathering Serana into his arms, he carried her over to the overhang of a huge stone that jutted out of the country hillside.

The ground under the overhang had been spared from the sun's attentions and was nice and cool to the touch. Out of the direct light and heat, Serana seem to gain a little bit of her strength back and her eyes fluttered open. Her glowing orange irises latched onto his. Many would be frightened by her eyes, but they were so familiar to him now that he didn't feel an ounce of fear looking into them; he knew those eyes.

Serana averted her gaze first. "What is troubling me you cannot help with," she said softly and winced as she went through another bout of pain.

"Surely there is something I can do."

"No, it is not that simple, it is something I must deal with by myself." Another wince and he could tell that it was taking a lot of her energy to speak.

"We cannot travel with you like this. You are next to useless in a fight, if there is a way to alleviate your pain I will-"

"I can't do that to you!" she snapped.

Silence intertwined the two and wrapped them thickly in its grasp as comprehension dawned on him. He stared at her as he realized what was happening, what she needed, but she looked anywhere except him.

"When was the last time you fed?" he asked quietly. She didn't answer and had her eyes focused solely on the stone above them.

"When was the last time." he said louder.

Nothing but the sound of his breathing and the beating of his heart.

"Serana, look at me." he said with a softer tone. Surprised at his change of countenance, her eyes flitted to his.

"Since they buried me away in the cavern." she answered finally.

He blinked as he realized she hadn't fed herself for at least a few centuries. Here he was, traveling all over Skyrim with her…having her fight...or even now sitting this close to her...

He backed off and tried to put some more space between the two of them, but Serana quickly sat up and caught his wrist, wincing again as she did so.

"No! Don't. I like having you near me. You help keep it off my mind."

He snorted. It was more like he was waving a bottle of finely aged wine under an alcoholic's nose, but he stayed put.

"Will you die if you don't feed soon?" he questioned.

Serana relaxed once he had settled back down and had clasped her cool hand in his warm one before replying. "I'm not sure. Never before has such a thing happened, but never has someone gone on this long without some sustenance."

Idly, he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles while he mulled over her words. He couldn't with a good conscious bring someone for her to feed on. Not to add to the fact that they were about a week away from any sort of town or city. To him, that left one option.

"Feed on me."

Serana's eyes widened. "No! I won't let you do that! You could die!" she spluttered.

"It's the only way. I can't have you traveling like this." said Whitland. He released her hand and went digging through his things before pulling out two flasks each filled with a bubbling concoction.

"These should help if anything happens. One is a fortify health potion and the other regenerates health. They are both highly potent." As he said this, he uncorked the lids and downed each potion in a go.

"You can't do this! I could kill you!" Serana cried out. She started to get up, but he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and pushed her back until she was lying down. She was too weak to throw him off.

"I trust you." he said.

With that, he drew his dagger from his belt, and careful to avoid any veins, made a well-sized cut on his forearm. Blood oozed from the wound and started to drip onto the ground. Serana writhed in pain from fighting the temptations and her eyes were bolted shut as she tried to keep some semblance of control.

A little tentatively, he had his arm hover over her face. Serana stiffened. His blood splattered onto her face and he watched with fascination, as she gave in to her desires. It was terrifying. It was beautiful.

Suddenly, she pierced her fangs into the cut and sucked. It was his turn to wince from the decisively unpleasant feeling, but he had dealt with far worse. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, but eventually he felt the edges of his vision darken and a sharp pain form behind his eyes.

He was making up for centuries of blood, a part of him whispered in the corners of his mind, that's a lot to make up for. Even with that nasty reminder, his belief in her was still strong. Bouts of dizziness came and left and the pain behind his eyes building as it all went on. His heartbeat started to pound in his ears like a stricken drum would for its final march and his head felt like it might burst from the pressure, but on she went and she wasn't slowing down.

Abruptly, the pain disappeared and he was floating. Away from the pain and the sound of his heart seemed to be dulling. The song was nearly over. He knew he had to anchor himself to the ground or else he'd just float away. But the ground brought so much pain, wouldn't it be easier to let go? Some part of him knew he couldn't, he had to stay for something important, if only he could remember!

He started to fall to the ground, gathering speed, and pain, oh so much pain! He was falling and falling and falling. He could see the ground now, he was going to crash. Crash and die.

That was when his vision went completely black and he fell unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was the shooting pain in his head that felt like he had knocked heads with a dragon. His whole body felt weak and empty like he hadn't eaten any food in days. His throat was parched and hurt from misuse.

The next thing he noticed was that he was only wearing his trousers.

He tried to concentrate, but the pounding of his skull proved to make it difficult. What happened? Why was he like this? Then suddenly he remembered the smell of blood and a pair of bright amber eyes.

With a start, he tried to push himself upright, but a pair of smooth hands stopped him. The world swirled around him and it took quite awhile before his eyes could refocus from the quick action.

Blinking, he found himself looking into the concerned face of Serana. She appeared to be much better than when he had last seen her. Her pale skin had returned to its usual glow and she seemed to hold herself with a strength that had been absent from before.

His eyes flickered to his arm. She must have healed it; all that was left was a faint silver line and two holes from where she had penetrated his skin with her fangs.

His gaze returned to her and suddenly he was very aware of her hands on his bare chest. His skin seemed to burn slightly under her touch and he must have been recovering from a fever. Serana brought her hands back to her sides and said nothing, just watching him.

"How long have I been out?" he managed to rasp. Without asking, she handed him a water skin that he gratefully accepted. The soothing liquid trickled down his throat and quenched his thirst.

"Four days." He choked on his water.

Frantically, he inspected himself. He swore he had the same tan skin that he had for as long as he could remember. He felt no different than usual, well actually he felt _very_ different, but not anything like "the sun was weakening him" kind of deal. Feeling his teeth, he didn't find any fangs.

"I'm not a vampire." he realized out loud.

"No, you're not." she agreed.

"Why?"

"After what happened," she said, pointedly not referring to the event that had transpired between the two, "You came down with a fever and starting slipping in and out of unconsciousness."

Now that she mentioned it, he had hazy memories of his fever induced self. All he could remember was the suffocating heat and Serana's face swimming in and out of view.

"Eventually, you managed to stay conscious long enough for me to get you to drink a cure disease potion. I didn't think you were fond of the idea of becoming a vampire since you've refused the offer twice now, and it would cure the fever, so..." She shrugged.

He nodded. "Thank you."

A shadow crossed her face. "Do not thank me. I nearly killed you; I was starting to think you wouldn't wake up."

"But I did."

Her eyes flashed. "I almost killed you! Do you understand that? When I finally had the willpower to stop, you were nearly gone! What if I didn't stop? How would I explain to the Dawnguard that you were dead? As if they would let me live! If you died, you would leave me all alone...you're all I got now."

"I wasn't going to sit by and watch you suffer. I've been traveling with you all this time, pumping with blood, and making it harder for you! Yet not once, even when I was sleeping, did you feed off of me. Of course I had to do something!" he continued softer now. "But I am here, living and breathing. I knew you would stop, and I don't have any plans leaving you anytime soon."

They stared at each other, neither willing to back down. Finally, Serana sighed and looked away. "I still think you shouldn't have done it, but thank you."

So they would agree to disagree. Whitland nodded. "You're welcome."

"Would you like some vegetable soup? No one else is going to eat it."

"Very much."

She gave him a bowl of the soup. He quickly began to eat, but realized three things; one the soup was cold, all the vegetables were still raw, and there wasn't any actual soup, it was just lukewarm water. He supposed a vampire never really had a need to learn how to cook, so he was touched by the effort and decided to eat it anyways. It was all edible. So he scooped up the vegetables and munched on them and the bowl was as good as any drinking cup.

Serana had watched him the whole time and seemed to be pleased that he ate it. "When do you think you'll be able to travel again?" she asked.

He thought about it. The food and water had already done loads for him, and all he had to be careful about was not to make any sudden movements. He still had a splitting headache though, and was frequently attacked by waves of dizziness. Straining to see the sky from under the overhang, he found it was late in the afternoon and nearly evening.

"A night's rest then we can head out tomorrow."

Serana looked like she was going to protest, but nodded. "Fine. You should probably rest then."

"May I have my shirt back at least?"

Serana let her gaze rove over the length of his body in a way that sent chills down his spine and his heart to splutter. "No," she said in a low tone, "I think I like you like this." Then she gave him a smile that made his insides flutter.

He swallowed thickly and hopelessly tried to calm his racing heart, almost certain that she could hear it with her heightened senses. When her smile deepened, he knew she had just confirmed it. Failing to reply, he lied down on his side and could feel the amusement radiating off of her as he drifted off to sleep.

He was still asleep when something pressed against his chest. It was cold but oddly warm at the same time. He wrapped his arms around it before falling into an even deeper state of unconsciousness. Therefore he was unable to hear the small gasp of surprise that the 'something' made.


	3. Chapter 3

Whitland woke up against the adamant protests of his body feeling strangely content. His whole front side somehow felt cold and warm at the same time in a way that he found overall very pleasant. Something shifted on his chest, eliciting more of these feelings.

Trying to find the source, he opened his eyes and found Serana in his arms. Her bright eyes were studying him intently. He tightened his arms around her and whispered in her ear,

"Did we do something yesterday that I don't know about?"

A shiver went through her at his words, but there was a laugh in her voice when she replied, "Nothing happened, I went to lie down and while you were asleep you somehow managed to trap me in your arms. I didn't want to wake you, so I stayed put."

"Mmm…Sorry about that." But his arms remained where they were.

"I don't mind."

They stayed like that, soaking in each other's presence and watching the sun rise from under the shade.

"We should go." murmured Serana, her eyes lightly closed.

"We should." If they wanted to make any sort of progress, now would be the time.

Neither moved.

A strand of Serana's pitch black hair had fallen in front of her face and he reached out and tucked it behind her ear. Her eyes snapped open. She watched him as he brushed his fingers through her hair, feeling the softness of it.

Eventually, both separated reluctantly from each other. They knew they were killing daylight and needed to get going. They were only a day's way from Fort Dawnguard and needed to hurry. They were in twice the danger now with Auriel's bow in their possession.

Serana gave him back his shirt, which he gladly put on, and started handing him the pieces of his armor. She paused once she came to his gauntlets, and studied them.

"I have never seen armor like this, what kind is it?" she asked.

"Nightingale." he answered and took them from her.

"What is a Nightingale?"

He gave her a calculating glance. "A Nightingale means you are part of the inner circle of the Thieves Guild."

"You're part of the Thieves Guild? I thought you were supposed to be 'honorable' and all that."

"A thief can have honor."

"So you say. Who is the guild master is now? Or are you not allowed to tell me?"

He looked at the ground. "You're looking at him."

Her eyes widened in shock before she smiled. "First, I learned you were the Arch-Mage when we were searching for the moth priest. Then when we had to fight Durnehviir I find out you're the Dragonborn, who apparently saved the world. Now the thieves guild master? Anything else you've got to surprise me with?"

"I'm Harbinger of the Companions."

"Are you a werewolf?" she asked startled. Whitland buckled his sword on and they started walking down the road together in the direction of the fort.

"I was for quite awhile, but later on I cured myself."

"Why?"

"I was brought into this world as a mortal, and I wished to remain that way. I have been able to overcome any challenges just as I am, without any supernatural abilities." he smiled. "Unless you count the fact that I am the Dragonborn."

"Is that all?"

"The only other thing I'm in is the Imperial Legion."

Let me guess, you're the general?" she teased

"A legate actually."

She shook her head. "You get around quite a bit." They walked a bit in silence. Serana suddenly looked up at the sun with distaste. "The sun is really bright today, you know that?"

"Mmm..." he said mildly. She came to be quite the grumbler when it came to the weather.

"If you had been more alert, your horse would still be alive and we'd be at Dawnguard already, inside and away from the sun. You should be more careful in the future."

"I'll remember that, thank you." he commented dryly.

"We should start resting in the morning and walking at night instead. No sun, it's just nice and dark." she continued.

"You're impossible to travel with!" He exclaimed, but he was smiling all the same when he said it.

She huffed and for a few minutes their walking was done in a blissful silence free of complaints. "Now Serana, don't go quiet on me, but we've been all over Skyrim together, I think I know by now your opinion on the sun." he said, worried he had offended her somehow.

"I couldn't do that, you'd miss the sound of my voice," she said lightly. "But you'll regret that."

"No doubt. I'm curious though, how would you react if I was a werewolf?"

She was silent for a moment before replying. "I suppose I would be surprised, but my behavior wouldn't change towards you, I think."

"Well I'm glad to hear that, _I think_."

"Oh hush." she said laughing and swatting at his shoulder.

They walked for the rest of the day exchanging banter until well after dusk. Although Whitland didn't admit it, he was utterly exhausted by the time they decided to look for a place to rest. Even if all they did was walking, at times he had barely caught himself from falling over. He didn't breathe a word of it to Serana however; she would only blame herself.

"That spot over there looks like a good place to stop for today." said Serana, interrupting his thoughts.

He wearily looked in the direction she was pointing, seeing five trees blur together in his vision before all forming into one. He blinked; perhaps Skyrim did have a few green giants in its countryside. The tree had to be at least fifty years old with its roots all gnarled and its trunk about three feet thick. Its branches reached for the sky, and it had to be the biggest and most leafy tree he had ever seen.

"Looks good." He managed to say and by some miracle, he made it over to the spot with only a small stumble.

"Are you-" Serana started to ask, but she was cut off by a hiss.

Five vampires emerged from the shadows, their eyes appearing like torches in the darkness. "We're here for the bow." A female purred, clearly the leader of the group.

"Too bad, it's not going anywhere with you." said Whitland. Drawing upon the last vestiges of his strength, he drew his sword and allowed his fingertips to flicker with electricity. He heard Serana do the same.

"Then we shall take it from your corpse. I think I will find great pleasure in dancing in your blood." With those last parting words, the group attacked.

Just his luck, the blood thirsty female lunged at him along with a nightwalker. His palm flashed and an arc of lightning struck her accomplice in the chest. The creature fell down and didn't move.

He somehow managed to sidestep the female's blow but nearly collapsed when a red light descended upon him. He fell to one knee as his health was being slowly robbed from his body. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at the female with a fire in his eyes and in the back of his throat.

"YOL! TOOR! SHUL!" he roared, his eyes blazing; the strength of his thu'um causing the ground to tremble beneath their feet.

A barrel of flames shot out of his mouth onto the unsuspecting vampire before him. She yelped, and he was momentarily freed of the vampiric spell. He knocked down a stamina potion and started to hack at the female with fervor while she was still burning with heat.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, making his body hum with energy, and washing away his exhaustion for the time being. The vampire weakly retaliated, but it was clear who was going to be the victor. Her body met the ground with a thud.

His gaze searched his surroundings to see how Serana was faring. He paid no attention when the vampire before him started to glow and pick herself up again. He knew it was only Serana working her magic.

He found her pair of gleaming eyes in the darkness. Out of the three vampires that had attacked her, two were left and she seemed to be finishing up on another. Soundlessly, he crept over to the currently unchallenged vampire from behind. His sword glinted in the moonlight and time seemed to slow down. He grabbed the vampire by the collar and slit his throat with the edge of his blade, each action occurring almost instantaneously.

There was a small sound as Serana killed the last vampire and its body hit the ground with a sickening plop. She whirled around just in time to see him let go of the corpse in his arms.

"Perhaps we should find a different place to rest for the night?" she asked, looking around at the carnage they'd created. The female he had killed earlier suddenly disintegrated into a pile of ash as the magic holding it left.

He nodded, too tired to speak. The sudden burst of energy from earlier was quickly making its departure apparent and he felt like he was going to faint if he didn't sit down soon.

They walked a little a ways from the sight, with him mostly dragging his feet across the dirt and the occasional stumble. He trusted Serana to lead them.

"We'll stop here." she announced.

All he saw was a small cluster of trees, nothing like the one they had seen previously, before he let his knees buckle and collapsed on the ground with an undignified thump. His vision was fringed with blackness. Before he forgot, he swallowed a cure disease potion in case any of the vampires had infected him.

Serana sat down with much more grace and handed him another potion that he drank without question. He immediately felt better and had to work his mouth a few times to get it out,

"What was that?" Slightly surprised by how dry his mouth was, he was pleased that his voice still came out strong.

"It makes your stamina regenerate quicker. You seemed a bit pale after we fought the vampires; you looked like you needed a boost."

He nodded gratefully. "That one crazy chick took a lot out of me."

Her orange eyes observed him. "It appears so."

"Should we press forward and try to get to Fort Dawnguard before morning?" he smiled. "We'd be traveling by night as you wanted, or rest for the night?"

"Rest." she said instantly. He ran a quick eye over her, trying to see if she was harmed, but found nothing. That meant only one thing; she was doing it for him. He decided to ask her anyway, just to make sure.

"Are you hurt?"

Serana hesitated as if to think it over, which only served to increase his suspicions. "Yes," she admitted, "But it's nothing that won't heal itself."

"Let me see it."

She hesitated again, but seemed to realize that his magic wouldn't be affected by his present condition and obeyed his wishes. She showed him a rather nasty cut on her shoulder that had gone through her armor and had to be paining her. His hand went to hover above the wound and shone with a soft light as it made sure the mark had never touched her luminous skin. Their eyes found each other after he was done.

Serana was the one to look away first. "We should have someone keep watch. I'll do it," she said quickly when he went to say something, "I've been asleep for a few centuries, I think one night without rest won't harm me. Besides, I can see much better than you in the dark."

He nodded, too exhausted to protest, and went out cold as soon as he lied down.


	4. Chapter 4

"We're almost there, I can see the canyon in the distance." said Serana.

Whitland squinted but couldn't seem to see what she clearly could, but he had spotted a few landmarks and knew they would be there soon. He didn't need supernatural sight. He _wasn't_ jealous either. Not one bit.

"I suppose we'll start planning to attack my father and his fortress when we get back." she said somberly, her fiery eyes dulling slightly.

He sighed. "Yes, but you don't have to do anything you don't want to. If you don't want to take part in the attack, that is perfectly fine."

"You can't get rid of me that easily. I'm not leaving your side." stated Serana firmly. He hid a smile at her words.

In another hour, they had entered Dayspring Canyon. Whitland always thought Isran had picked a beautiful spot to build his fort. A person just had to walk down the hill before they were hit with a breathtaking scene of waterfalls and foliage. It was like something out of a fairytale that mothers would tell their children before they went to bed. And no fairytale would be without its castle.

"I'm going to refill the water skin." he said and she followed him over to the lake's edge.

He filled it up to the rim and took a long draught. The water was ice cold running down his throat.

"The water's refreshing." he commented, refilling the skin and standing up to study the waterfalls pouring into the lake. He heard Serana come closer to him from behind.

"You don't say." she said and he recognized too late the playfulness in her tone.

She shoved him and he toppled headfirst into the water. He resurfaced a moment later spluttering and watching Serana laugh at his predicament.

"What was that for?"

"That was something I call revenge." she answered with a wicked smile.

"For what I said about how impossible you are to travel with?" A dangerous smile took hold of his lips. "Then the repayment was far too much for the crime." Serana's eyes widened, but she was far too slow. With a sharp tug and a splash, she joined him in the water. It was his turn to laugh.

"How dare you!" she exclaimed, sopping wet but with a smile shining brightly on her face. "What a pair we will be, walking into the fort dripping water everywhere!"

"We'll suffer together." he said and helped her out, only for her to push him back in.

"There, now were even."

He shook his head and accepted the forgotten water skin from her hands as he got out for a second time.

They were let into the fort with a few eyebrows raised, but the pair didn't feel the need to explain why they were in such a state. Inside Dawnguard, they sought out Isran and found him talking to Gunmar in gruff tones. Gunmar saw them first and let out a great, booming laugh at the sight of them.

"It appears the wet duo has come back!" he said gleefully.

Isran turned around and studied the two of them with the usual iron in his eyes, but he chose not to comment on their appearance. His gaze lingered on Serana, but it was well known fact that Isran wasn't the trusting type.

"So you have returned," he said in his deep voice, "Was your mission successful?"

In answer, Whitland slipped the bow off his back and presented it to the battle hardened warrior. Isran's eyes gleamed.

"With Auriel's bow in our grasp, we can finally kill Harkon and the rest of the bloodsuckers in that castle of his," his gaze shifted over to Serana, "Except for present company, of course. No objections, I assume?"

Serana stiffened. "As long as those who show no will to fight are given mercy." The two stared at each other challengingly before Isran grudgingly nodded. "I suppose we can spare a few of them for another time. My sense of purpose shouldn't be eliminated all in one go."

"What's the next plan of action?" asked Gunmar, trying to ease the tension.

Isran focused his attention on him. "We storm the castle and attack. Kill them."

"You're such a complicated man." said Gunmar dryly.

"Simple plans work the best."

"We don't have the numbers to take them." Whitland interjected, sensing this could drag on for awhile. Everyone turned to stare at him so he continued. "They have triple our numbers. We would be lucky enough if we could make it across the water to their front door without all of us dead."

"So what are you proposing?" asked Gunmar.

"Force them to come to us. We have the upper hand right now, they need the bow if they wish to fulfill the prophecy so at some point they will have to come and get it. At Fort Dawnguard, we would have the advantage of being familiar with the land and we've got our own fortress to cozy up in."

"That still doesn't change the fact that they've got more numbers than us." Serana pointed out.

"No, but I think I can change that." said Whitland. "A fair amount of people owe me some favors and there's quite a bit of people I can actually command." Serana and him shared a smile as they knew who those 'people' could be.

Isran and Gunmar exchanged a look. "It's a simple plan if you think about it," said Gunmar with a grin, "Wait it out, gather strength, and destroy them once they get here."

Isran grunted. "Fine, but I suggest hurrying and calling out those favors of yours. I'll start stocking the fort to prepare it for siege." With that, Isran turned sharply on his heel and left.

"He just hates being up classed when it comes to things like this." said Gunmar, joyfully watching Isran's retreat. "I haven't seen him this put out in years." He grinned at the drenched couple. "So what happened here?"

"Just a small mishap." Serana answered vaguely.

"Right, I'm supposed to be believe that."

"Believe whatever you want to believe." said Whitland. "I think I should set off soon, care to accompany me, my wet lady?" He offered her his arm.

"Of course, wet sir."

With whatever dignity they had left, the pair exited the fort together.

A/N I can't think of what I should write for the next chapter. Any ideas? Mainly I just need inspiration for some Serana and Dragonborn moments. Did anyone notice in the last chapter the special stealth kill Whitland did? It was supposed to be like in the video game when you sort of go on autopilot and kill the person. Also I'm changing the number of vampires that Harkon has to around thirty, maybe less (plus any creatures etc.). Makes it more interesting. Lastly, thanks for the reviews. This is my first story, so it really makes me giddy when I get one.


	5. Chapter 5

"Have you killed Paarthurnax?"

"No," Whitland answered through clenched teeth.

"Then I think you know my answer."

"How can you say that? Is it or is it not your sworn duty to protect me?"

"Yes, but-" he cut her off.

"Then protect me and help me defeat an evil that threatens all of Skyrim! The Blades cannot hold old grievances forever, Delphine. If you wish to set the past aside, then meet me at Fort Dawnguard, I am done trying to convince you."

He exited the chamber briskly and found Esbern speaking animatedly to Serana and showing her Alduin's Wall. Serana seemed to be listening intently and the two took no notice whatsoever of his presence. He cleared his throat, drawing both of their surprised faces to him.

"I think we should be leaving Esbern, it was good to see you."

"Why of course, Dragonborn, perhaps we will see each other in the near future." said the old man in his gravelly voice. Whitland snorted. That was more than unlikely if he had anything to go by with his conversation with Delphine. On second thought, it was more like a screaming match considering that he was pretty certain that any kind of civilized conduct did not go anything above a raised voice.

Esbern looked at Serana with what seemed to be real remorse. "It shall have to be another day that I tell you of the Blades history, my dear, and you will have to tell me all about your life and how it was centuries ago."

"Yes, thank you Esbern, it was nice talking to you." Serana managed to say and hurried to keep up with Whitland's quick strides out the door.

"So I'm guessing it didn't go so well with Delphine." she said once they were out of Sky Haven Temple.

He smiled bitterly. "No, it didn't. Delphine is set in her ways. The dragons have killed many of her ancestors and she cannot let her hate go. I doubt the Blades will join us unless I do as she wishes and kill Paarthurnax." he searched for a lighter topic. "Did you like Esbern? He is quite the scholar and is probably fascinated by you."

"I like him, he acts like he's everyone's grandfather. He was also quite informative." she said, glancing sideways at him.

He groaned while they walked over to his horse. A certain vampire had encouraged him with her constant grumbling to buy the animal. He had purchased the stallion first thing when they had reached Riften to contact the thieves guild. Not that he was naming names or anything, but it wasn't because one of Harkon's brutes had been bothering him. Just his daughter.

"What did he tell you?"

"Well I knew you saved Skyrim, just not in so much detail as I do now."

He swung into the horse's saddle and helped her up. "And?"

"Let's just say I'm a little more impressed than before." He let out a chuckle at her words, forgetting his earlier frustration. It might have helped when she wrapped her arms around him in the saddle once they started moving.

"You shouldn't let Delphine's refusal to rifle you up so much," advised Serana, "You already have the College of Winterhold and the Thieves Guild helping. General Tullius said he would spare a few men and the Companions are more than happy to lend a hand."

She was right. He had contacted Tolfdir and the old mage had promised to send five mages over to Fort Dawnguard. Brynjolf had also sent the best three archers they had at his order. General Tullius, with a combination of threatening and taunting, had agreed to have seven of his men to serve under his command until he 'wiped out this minor threat.' All of the Companions in the Circle were coming over to the fort, more than eager to fight after he had explained the situation to them. They had easily doubled their fighting force.

He sighed, and the last remains of his anger washed away. "I know, I just wish Delphine could see past her hate and see the bigger picture."

"It will take some time-" Her voice was droned out by a distant roar. A roar he had grown to be very familiar with. It was a sound that would tear through the air and claim its dominance as lord of the skies. He could feel the beginnings of a shout in the back of his throat in answer to its call and the need to make his thu'um known.

"Move!" A male voice suddenly bellowed.

A man completely encased in a suit of dark armor emerged from the bushes. In spite of the heavy weight he was wearing, he seemed to be moving quite nimbly and charging across the land with the speed of an arrow's flight. He was also heading straight towards them.

Whitland blinked. Only when Serana tightened her arms around his waist, was he reminded that he needed to do something other then sit there like a frozen deer. He attempted to steer clear of the human projectile, but his reactions were far too slow.

With a loud crash, the man slammed into them at full momentum and hurled all three of them to the ground. His horse reared before galloping away across the mountainside and abandoning his riders. For Talos' sake that was his second horse!

"Why didn't you move!?" the man said crossly while he picked himself up.

Whitland felt his blood boil. He stood up and stopped when he was only inches away from the man's masked face. "Why didn't you stop?"

As quick as a flash, the man grabbed something from his belt and flicked it with practiced ease. Whitland braced himself, but all he heard was a soft thump and a yelp from behind him. Turning around, he found a knife had buried itself in the black hide of a wolf. He scowled. Great, now he owed the man, and he was impressed.

His attention was drawn back to the man as he let out a frustrated sigh. "Look," the man said impatiently, "I've got a dragon on my tail and a pack of wolves. I've got no time to talk. Another time would be great, but right now, I need to run like Hircine's on my ass."

A shadow swept over them. Whitland smirked. "Too late, we'll have to fight them."

As if on signal, six wolves darted out of the underbrush and pounced upon the three of them. Serana waved her hand and one of the creatures fell down with a spike of ice protruding from its chest. Two more were killed similarly by him.

He watched with interest as the man rapidly released three knives in a quick session. He had never heard of using knives as a weapon, much less throwing them. Missing only one of his marks, the man withdrew a greatsword that matched the rest of his armor and struck the last beast down. A chasm of flames interrupted their victory and a dragon swooped over them.

"Now we're going to have to be roasted alive until the damned thing decides to land." stated the man irritably.

Whitland smiled. "I might be able to help." He looked up to the skies and finally released the shout that still hummed in his throat.

"STRUN! BAH! QO!"

At his will, the sky darkened and thunderclouds began to gather. A frenzy of droplets began to fall from the sky and pelt the ground. A clap of thunder blasted through the air as the Nine Divines cried out to punish the land. An arch of lightning sliced into the darkness and temporarily illuminated the black sky. The silhouette of a dragon was exposed and a snarl of pain echoed throughout the mountainsides.

There was a growl and suddenly the dragon was hovering in front of them. Another crack of thunder and a flare of light. It opened its maw and released an inferno of flames, but most of the blaze was lost in the on pour of rain.

He took a deep breath. "JOOR! ZAH! FRUL!" He could barely hear himself over the storm, but a greenish light took hold of the dragon and forced it to land. A lash of lightning zigzagged and snapped like a whip. The creature howled.

"Now would be the time where you kill it." He hollered. By some miracle, they heard him and carefully drew closer to the beast. The man started hacking at it with his greatsword and Serana let out her own cracks of lightning bolts at the animal.

The dragon roared and swiped at the closest enemy in reach. Its talons raked across the man's helmet and tossed him easily into the air. The man landed hard in a stretch of mud but got up almost instantly afterwards. He continued to fight but the beast's assault seemed to have hindered him.

Whitland could feel the storm begin to fade and lose its intensity. One last tendril of lightning reached for the creature and with a hiss, the dragon tumbled to the ground. There was a final clap of thunder and just as quickly as the storm had came, it left Skyrim without a hint of its occurrence.

The dragon began to glow like a burning coal and the flesh seemed to burn right off its body. A flurry of light transferred from its broken form to him. Whitland felt a warm energy smolder inside him for a short moment as he absorbed the dragon's soul. Then it was gone and all that was left of the creature was a mound of bones.

"I thought we could take them." said Whitland to the awestruck man and Serana. He looked on with amusement as they stared at him.

"You caused that?" said the man in wonder. His armor was caked in mud from when the dragon had attacked him.

"Well I didn't just shout into the sky for the fun of it." he remarked. "I am Whitland by the way and this is Serana, my vampire companion." Seeing his alarmed face, he added, "But she won't kill you as long as you're on her good side." The man just continued to stare.

Serana seemed to regain her composure. "This is the part where you tell us your name." She put in helpfully.

The man shook his head and straightened. "Right. I am Elvyr and-" Elvyr paused and swayed dangerously on his feet before sinking to the ground. "And I'm a little hurt." he admitted.

They rushed to his side. Whitland winced as he surveyed the damage the dragon had dealt the man. Three paths of dents lined his chest piece from where the dragon had mauled him. It had to be making it hard for him to breathe, but luckily the armor had taken most of the hit. The worst part was his helmet; the entire front of it was caved in and a thin streak of blood was running out from the bottom.

"We'll have to take your helmet off." said Whitland. He moved to touch it, but Elvyr swerved out of his reach.

"No," he said with a faint voice, "I'll be fine, just keep it on." He pushed their hands aside and stood. "See? Perfectly fi-" Whitland caught him before he'd hit the ground. Serana and him shared a look.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she said, smiling mischievously.

"And what's that?"

"Like oblivion we're not going to take the helmet off if just to see what the guy looks like."

"We're completely in sync now."

"I knew there was a reason I stuck around with you."

"It's not because your dad wishes to end the tyranny of the sun and use you as a sacrifice?"

"Oh please, there are plenty of other people like you I could have gone to." she said dismissively.

"Is there?"

She pursed her lips. "Well no, but that isn't fair, who can compete with saving the entire land and being the last Dragonborn? You're asking for a lot."

"Sorry, I didn't get much of a choice. I was born as the Dragonborn and prophesized to save Skyrim."

"I suppose you're forgiven." she said gravely, but with smiling eyes.

Together, the pair of them gently pried the helm off Elvyr's face. They were met with an image of stark white hair. Elvyr was a Nord by the strength of his jaw and his light hair, but his face was quite angular for his race and held the faintest resemblance of a wood elf. A wicked scar ran from his cheekbone to his jaw. After a quick check, they found he only had a bit of head trauma and a cut lip.

"I wonder why he was such a freak about his helmet." mused Serana after they had healed Elvyr and taken off his breastplate.

He shrugged. "Everyone has their secrets."

"Really? Then what's one of yours?"

He gestured for her to come closer. Her hair smelled of wildflowers and something he couldn't quite name. He whispered against her ear. "I can't tell you. Then it wouldn't be a secret." She shivered and leaned into him more. "Say it."

"I-" Elvyr suddenly stirred and the two scrambled away from each other and their more than compromising positions.

The Nord sat up and rubbed his head before freezing. Putting two and two together, he cracked his eyes open to reveal a set of pale blue orbs. He sighed once he saw them. "You took my helmet off."

"It's more like scrap metal now from the damage its taken." offered Whitland. "Why didn't you want us to take it off?"

Elvyr hesitated. "I'm a wanted man." he confessed.

"For?"

"I found out something I shouldn't and now the whole coven of Dark Brotherhood assassins is out to get me. I actually didn't commit any crimes, but whoever's paying them has a lot of gold to spend." Elvyr sighed again. "Listen, I'll be out of your hair soon."

"No," Whitland said slowly, "I think I want you to join us. We're trying to kill a vampire and the rest of his goons from ending the sun. Interested?"

Elvyr grinned. "It sounds like an adventure, but what about the assassins?"

Whitland smiled. "Join the club, I've got a few on my hands, but the brotherhood wouldn't be dumb enough to try and kill us in a battle filled with blood thirsty vampires that could just as easily kill them as you and me."

"Then I'm in."

"We should probably start moving then. We need to get to Fort Dawnguard quick before they decide to attack." And also so he could have Auriel's bow back in sights again, he thought privately to himself. Against his better judgment, he had left it there since the whole point was to make the vampires come to them. Stupid logic and all that.

The three of them started walking down the mountainside together. Serana looked at the cloudless sky with a grimace. "The sun didn't even let up after the storm you created, still bright as ever." she said with dislike.

Whitland groaned. "Remind me to strangle you Elvyr when she starts talking about how much faster we would have made it to the fort with a horse."

A/N This was a lot longer than most of my chapters and it was more action packed than fluffy. Elvyr is pronounced (L) (VI) (er) and was made at a guest's request. He will be the only one to have the special ability to throw knives just because he's awesome.


	6. Chapter 6

"Are you sure she's on our side?" Elvyr said in an undertone after Serana complained about the weather for the hundredth time. "It seems to me like she wouldn't be against ending the tyranny of the sun."

"You'd think, but she hates it whether it's rain or shine. I'm fairly sure though that she won't join her father's side and let herself be sacrificed." answered Whitland quietly. Serana was just ahead of them and neither wanted to be caught talking about her.

Elvyr grunted. "Sounds like a rubbish father to me."

"You have no idea. _I_ have no idea."

It had been four days since they'd met Elvyr in the mountains and they had become close friends with the Nord. However, Elvyr was anything but open with the two. Anything that would tell a lick of information about his past, he went tight lipped. The most the pair knew about him was what he had told them the first day they'd ran into him.

Whitland could understand, just as he was certain Serana did. His past wasn't full of sunshine and rainbows either, and he never talked about anything that concerned his parents or his childhood. That didn't mean he liked it when the tables were suddenly turned on him. He would get something out of that Nord no matter what it'd take.

That night, when they were gathered around the fire, he decided to try a different approach. "So when were you planning on telling us why your such a hunted man?" he asked without a decency of subtleness.

Elvyr shifted uncomfortably on his log. "It's complicated." He said evasively, but Whitland was done beating around the bush.

"Look, normally I wouldn't pry," a complete a white lie, but he went with it, "But I would like to know why you're a wanted man when I have to guard your back."

"I can protect myself fine." Elvyr said stiffly.

"That's not the point."

"It doesn't matter what's the point!" the Nord exploded. "It's my past and it's not pretty. Let's hear you say something about your history, because you're just as secretive as I am. Not some adventure, where you defeat the bad guy, your past, the reason you are who you are today. If you can spill, then I will."

It was deathly quiet. Elvyr's chuckle had a bitter bite. "See, you can't and neither can I."

Serana, who had been silent up until now, interrupted. "He doesn't need to. He's not a-"

"Fine." said Whitland evenly. His companions each paid him a look of surprise, but he ignored them.

"Fine." he repeated. "But I don't remember them. I don't even have the faintest recollection." His eyes were bottomless pools of memories in the moonlight. He seemed to be in a different place, a different time; a time where no laughs were laughed and no smiles were split.

"Why not?" Serana's soft voice broke through the eerie silence.

Whitland eyes were trained on the flickering flames before him when he answered. "They told me my father was a gifted woodworker. They said he made the most beautiful of carvings, the sturdiest of tables, and the finest of bows. The trees that my father used for wood were different where I lived than here in Skyrim." His eyes scanned their surroundings as if picturing a forest of the trees. "They were more alive, magical even."

He shook his head and continued. "They told me my mother had been very pretty and indecently kind. They said she would sing songs to me to help me fall asleep." He paused and his eyes were bolted shut. Serana slipped her hand into his and gave him a small squeeze. He took a shaky breath, but his voice was still strong when it came out.

"They told me I was only a few months old when they were murdered." His eyes suddenly snapped open and his stare reflected the innocent eyes of a child. "The villagers said the walls of the house were stained with their blood when they found them. That there was barely anything left resembling my parents. I was found perfectly fine and covered in their blood."

"What killed them?" asked Elvyr.

He locked eyes with the Nord, and Elvyr flinched like he had been mortally wounded. Whitland's gaze flickered over to Serana's face. "Vampires." he said in a hushed tone.

Serana eyes widened and an expression of horror filled her face. Her tempting lips parted to say something, but he spoke before she had the chance.

"They told me their eyes had been crimson red when they fled into the night's shadows. Not liquid gold or orange. Not your eyes." He added softly and returned her squeeze from earlier as if to say, _it's not your fault._ She relaxed slightly, but the guilt was still in her gaze.

"I was brought up by the people in my village. When I was of age, they told me all of what I tell you now. Eventually, I couldn't stand being there anymore, and left on the next ship that was heading for Skyrim. I lived in the woods for a couple of years until I ran into a group of Imperials and their prisoners. Next thing I knew, I was being carted off to Helgen to be executed."

There was nothing but the crackle of the fire after he'd finished his narration. Whitland's eyes were glassy when he met Elvyr's stare. Then he blinked and the look was gone. He shifted uncomfortably. "I believe it's your turn." he said after a few minutes had passed.

The Nord sighed and settled heavily in his seat. "I suppose it is. My parents had been part of the Dark Brotherhood." He waited for them to say something after the announcement, but both Serana and him were silent. They waited and with a shrug, the Nord went on with his narration.

"They were always leaving constantly. So one day I followed them into a building, snuck inside just as they had taught me. I saw them meet up with a lady named Astrid. I couldn't hear what they were saying but Astrid spotted me. She didn't seem happy. The next day I followed them again, and overheard Astrid give them their newest assignment."

Elvyr released a deep breath. "They were ordered to kill me. My parents didn't even so much as blink when they agreed. I must have made so sort of noise, because they turned and saw me. Not a hint of remorse was in their eyes when they drew their blades and started towards me. Naturally, I ran. I ran out of the room into a kitchen and must have tripped over something and fell. My parents were about to get me, _kill me_, so I scrambled for some kind of weapon, anythingthat I could use to defend myself."

He touched the small blades on his belt. "I picked up a kitchen knife and threw it just as my father went to bring his sword down. By luck alone it'd hit him in the throat, it wasn't that deep, but it didn't matter. He dropped his blade and sunk to the floor."

"My mother and I were frozen as we watched him slowly bleed out and die. Mother killed herself in her own grief," Elvyr traced the scar on his cheek, "but not before leaving her own mark. I somehow managed to escape. The Dark Brotherhood wanted revenge for my parents' death, and Astrid thought I knew something, so I've been marked for death since. In that time, I've learned how to throw knives with much more deadly precision. That's why I'm a wanted man." he added.

There was a moment of silence as all three of them acknowledged the others' pained past and in that moment, the three created a bond with each other. It was a kind of bond that could only be made when someone else had cried and fought over the same things you had and just simply managed to survive and push on.

Serana offered a tentative smile. "I guess we all know each others' sob story now."

Whitland gave a rocky chuckle. "I suppose so." he agreed. An awkward silence fell over the group.

Elvyr cleared his throat. "So, bed? I'm tired, so I think I'll just…" he motioned towards his bedroll. In seconds, he was fast asleep and snoring. Whitland shook his head; leave it to a Nord to fall asleep in any sort of situation.

Serana looked uneasily at him. "So vampires killed them?" He nodded.

She sighed. "Listen, I'm sorry-"

"Are you seriously trying to blame yourself for my parents' death?"

She smiled meekly. "Maybe."

"It wasn't even you. I don't harbor any feelings of resentment towards you so just get the thought out of your head."

"I still can't help but feel responsible for it."

"You were locked away in a cave. There was nothing you could have done."

She scooted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. His arm automatically came to wrap around her lithe form. She sighed and fiddled with the edge of his shirt. "What a pair we make. I'm the one grieving and you are the one to comfort me when it's your past."

"You just heard about it. It can hit a person hard." he teased.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"It's not something that you tell someone. You two are the only people I've told, _ever_."

She lifted her head and looked at him. Gazing into her eyes was like staring into a fire of glowing embers. "Really?"

"Yes, I trust you, both of you." he smiled. "Now you know one of my secrets."

Her answering smile made his blood pound. "That's not the kind of secret I wanted to know." whispered Serana.

She rested a hand where his heart would be and a volt of electricity shot through his body at her touch. His pulse quickened. Her eyes were dark and her lips seemed very enticing when she spoke, "That is." He swallowed; his mouth suddenly extremely dry and her lips curled into an even wider smile. He started to lean in, but a loud snore made the couple snap apart.

The pair looked at each other nervously and the air was layered in tension. "We should go to bed." said Serana and she began to move over to her bedroll.

He caught her by the wrist. "I don't think I'm ready for that step in our relationship yet." he said in a low voice. A shudder ran through the length of her body.

"I'll wait then." she said without missing a beat. He released her and the two crawled onto their own sleeping mats. Both laid awake for most of the night, facing away from each other, but with the other fixed largely on their mind.

A/N I know, I'm evil, not even a kiss for my readers. Now you know Elvyr's and Whitland's past, and know the reason how Elvyr came to throw knives as his primary weapon. In the next chapter we'll see the battle at Fort Dawnguard unfold. Does anyone have any interesting twists I could use/add for it? And thank you for the reviews as always.


	7. Chapter 7

"They're coming! They're coming!" The sentries shouted. The phrase echoed throughout the fort like some crazed mantra. The alarms pealed in the dead of the night and people scrambled to meet in the main chamber of the fort.

Serana found him in his rooms, watching as with practiced ease he strapped his armor on.

"That doesn't look like Nightingale." She commented, observing as he took off the chest piece and reveal the naked flesh from underneath. His skin was evenly tanned from the sun and his muscles rippled when he picked up the new set of armor.

"No, I needed something a little bit more durable for this fight." He struggled to lift the armor over his head and Serana came to his side to help. He felt her smooth digits brush against his skin and goose bumps broke out across his flesh. A shiver crept up his spine.

"What kind is it?" asked Serana once they had gotten it on him. He turned and for once realized how close their proximity was. He could still feel the slight chill she radiated and could count every one of her eyelashes. He cleared his throat. "Dragonbone."

Serana looked at him and her dark red lips parted as if she was going to say something important, but instead, "We should probably get down to the chamber."

He wondered at the sinking feeling in his gut, but nodded. "Right."

Down in the chamber, they found Isran staring grimly from where the rest of them were gathered before he turned to Whitland. "This was your idea and most of the people are here to follow you anyways." he said gruffly. "You can take the reins."

Gunmar could laugh even at a time like this. The bear like man trudged over to his side and whispered conspiratorially to him while Isran's back was turned. "He means to say that most of the people here refuse to listen to him and will only follow your orders." The smith chuckled at his startled expression. Gunmar winked at him before slipping back into the mob of people that made up the chamber.

Whitland blinked. Even if held at knifepoint, he never expected Isran to give anyone command. The man's stubbornness would be the death of him, and he could never fathom the idea of Isran even considering giving his authority to one of the new recruits. Serana nudged him out of his stupor and he snapped quickly to attention.

"Vipir, Niruin, and the recruit, head upstairs to the top of the battlements and rain hell on those vampires." His voice rung as sharp as metal being drawn from its sheath. The trio of thieves grinned and Vipir even gave a mocking salute before bidding his orders.

Whitland eyed the members of the Dawnguard. "I want two of you to go with them and be ready to help if those bloodsuckers manage to storm the fort. Lend a hand if you have a crossbow." Durak and Ingjard were the first ones to volunteer and followed the thieves' up to the rooftop.

He faced the mages. "You five will spread out in the attack. I want two of you to act as healers and the rest to kill as many vampires as you can. Try not to hurt anyone on our side with your magic. Focus on using fire spells and conjure as much creatures or undead as you can."

He addressed everyone else. "The rest of you go out outside and get ready to slaughter those bloodsuckers! At all costs, make sure they do not get their hands on Auriel's bow. This is our stand and the sun will be lighting our triumph when this battle is over. Now go! For Skyrim! For Fort Dawnguard! We taste battle!" The assembly roared and brandished their weapons. They rushed through the double doors and out to the front of the fort.

He remained rooted to the spot as the eager mass brushed past him in a flurry of drawn weapons and battle cries. Serana and Elvyr lingered behind. Soon, only the three of them were left in the dimly lit hall. The three of them each shared a long look, a look that expressed all that they didn't dare say out loud, before they marched side by side out of the fort to face the incoming threat.

Outside, Whitland surveyed their surroundings with a solemn expression. It was like a curtain had been pulled across the sky, leaving them in complete darkness except for the lone moon that shone as a beacon in the night. The vampires had picked the ideal time to attack when they were at their strongest. It was a less than encouraging omen.

A quietness seemed to hang in the air that would be deafening if not for the fidgeting noises that their band made as if fearing the condemning silence. His form was rigid and straight as a floorboard as he searched for some sort of sign.

A sudden hiss cut through the silence and the canyon was soon echoing with the noise. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as howls joined in. Death Hounds. He squinted into the black of the night but it was useless.

Then they were here.

In a blink of an eye, he could see their forms steadily approach. Their eyes burned a fiery hell and promised pain. Their lips were spread wide in a cannibalistic grin with their fangs hanging hungrily out of their mouth. Those fangs could tear through human skin as easily as a knife through butter. Death Hounds darted around them; their irises the color of spilled blood.

To their credit, their ragtag army stood their ground, but none could be blamed if they gave a bit of a shiver in fright.

"I'm glad were not enemies." he murmured to Serana.

She held in a laugh that more likely came from nerves than amusement. "Me too." she whispered back.

The vampires were almost at the wooden gates. A blur of arrows and bolts streaked through the air and snarls of pain were heard. Whitland drew his blade.

"Attack!" he roared.

With a cry, their army charged through the gates at the enemy and its dogs. Red flashes of light erupted into the darkness and shafts fell from the sky in a maddening frenzy. It was utter chaos and he lost Serana and Elvyr's forms in the darkness. He went to look for them, but with only the telltale warning of yellow or red, he was overwhelmed. He blindly attacked into the night and a whimper was heard. A stretch of claws made itself out of the darkness and he nursed a scratch on the head before his foe fell with a resounding thump. He moved on.

At the will of a mage, balls of fire spluttered into existence. The flames licked greedily at its target and vampires' screeched in agony as they were burnt alive. Their surroundings were lit for a few precious seconds and Whitland concentrated on hacking their enemy to scraps.

The darkness crawled back and he was rendered useless. Swiping at the blood that oozed into his eyes from his wound, he growled and barely managed to dodge a set of fangs. He swung wildly into the direction they came from and his weapon met something hard with a satisfying whack and a sharp hiss.

Screams were heard through the black of the night and the sound twisted painfully in his heart. They couldn't last long out here without any light. "Mages!" he shouted. His thu'um rose above the noise of the battle, "Use magelight!"

In response, flits of light started gluing to people's bodies and lighting up their surroundings. The rain of arrows that had been hurting friend and foe began to hit with devastating accuracy. Satisfied, he surveyed the rest of the battlefield.

His eyes widened. There was so many of them. A never-ending column of vampires and hounds swarmed all around them, one to be cut down, but only for another to take its place. He needed to end this fast, but he couldn't find Harkon in the mass of limbs and bodies.

He was punished for his small break from battle. Three Death Hounds had started circling him and pounced now that their prey was aware. Their claws dug into his armor and he toppled to the ground. His form was near invisible from the black bodies that had decided to attach themselves to him. Blood from his head wound trickled into his eyes, and a red film coated his vision until all he could make out were dark shadowy forms.

He managed to wipe at his face and his sight met a pair of murderous eyes, just as the dog decided to lunge. By luck alone, he managed to hold it back by the collar around its neck. The hound snarled and snapped at his face and its body shook with rage and power. Its canines inched a tiny bit closer to his throat. He grunted as the others found chinks in his armor and punctured his skin with their razor nails and teeth. His grip weakened. Canines inched forward.

Just as its jaws were about to rip into his throat, there was a whimper, and the pain on his side was relieved. A moment later, a shard of ice split the middle of the hound to his right. He smiled. Finally digging up the strength, he threw the dog off of him and killed the demon with a flick of his sword. The hound's eyes no longer glowed, but its mouth was still grinning madly even in death. Suppressing a shiver at the nightmarish scene, he turned to find Serana running up to meet him.

The vampire smirked at him, but concern emitted from her radiant eyes as she took in his appearance. Honestly, he wasn't looking his best. His armor was bathed in an onslaught of blood that wasn't even all his and the cut on his forehead was an ugly monster of its own right. But Serana knew that this wasn't the time or place to make him tend to his wounds and call him a thick headed idiot.

She sidled up next to him. "It seemed like you needed a hand." said Serana, gesturing to the dead bodies of the hounds.

He huffed, but smiled at her gratefully. "Me? Please, I had this all under control."

She smiled, but the look faded to a more serious one. She motioned to the battle all around them. "How are we going to defeat them all?"

He sighed. "I'm sure we'll find a way, but I can't seem to find your father. I don't think he's here."

Serana cursed softly. "Of course he's not. He's too much of a coward and sent everyone else to do his dirty work while he stays safely in his castle without a care in the world."

"Hey," he said and he gathered her in his arms, "It's okay, we'll get through this together, all right? I promise." He began to sway in place and rub circles soothingly into the back of her armor. Serana seemed to relax and the tension leaked out of her body. He rested his chin on the top of her head and it seemed like none of the chaos around them could touch them.

The moment ended when Serana pulled away and spared him a weak smile. Her hand rose and with a feather light touch, traced the cut on his head. "You should have worn a helmet." she said quietly.

He shrugged. "Should of, but didn't. You can tell me how stupid that was later, but I believe we need to show these vampires and hounds a few lessons in death that they've failed to notice."

Serana raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And that is?"

"That a vampire and Dragonborn are about to send them to their early graves," he paused to consider his words, "For good."

"You mean Dragonborn, Arch-Mage, Harbinger, Legate, and Thieves Guild Master?"

He smiled and shrugged. "I didn't want to put you out."

Serana made a 'hmmph' noise in the back of her throat. "I think Dragonborn that you'll find that I am quite hard to impress."

"Is that a challenge?"

"More of a statement of fact."

"We shall see about that."

The two dove back together into battle and the sight of the pair assured death would soon be incoming. The duo found Elvyr surrounded by a ring of vampires, but the Nord seemed to be holding his own. They cut a path to his side and the three took on the group together.

"There's too many of them." Elvyr grunted as he planted his greatsword in the flesh of a vampire. The creature's eyes rolled to the back of its head and the blade was lathered in blood when the Nord heaved his sword out from the corpse. The other vampires hissed in feverish delight and gathered even tighter around the three. The deaths of their own only seemed to amplify the creatures' fervent desire for blood.

It took Whitland a minute to reply as he held off a few vampires with his shield. "I know that." he growled. Bracing himself, he bashed their skulls in and stabbed the vampires through with his blade.

"Is there any shouts you can use?" asked the Nord while he threw a knife at the chest of a hound. The dog slumped to the ground. "Maybe call up a storm again?"

"Can't. Too many of us out here. It would probably hurt some of our own."

A new surge of vampires and hounds kept them too busy to talk. Whitland focused on only the sound of blade against blade and the snap of teeth. The pressure let up some when Serana reanimated a corpse to help fight, but it wasn't enough. They were slowly being overwhelmed.

"Please tell me you have a trick up your sleeve." Serana said from behind him. The three of them were standing back to back.

He turned to give her a wink. "Now that you mention it, Florentius taught me a spell I've been wanting to try out."

Sheathing his weapon, he closed his eyes and made a vague motion with his hands. His gauntlets glowed white and were outlined in a golden light. His eyes shot open and he released the spell. A miniature sun flew from his hands into a flock of vampires and exploded in a flash of light. The creatures shrieked and most fell over dead. That was all it took for the force to break apart and allowed them to defeat the rest with ease.

Whitland struck his blade through the ground and leaned on it heavily as they took a much needed rest from battle. His arms were starting to feel heavy and it took an effort to move even so much as an inch. The blood from his wounds had crusted over, but he could feel each individual sore and pain with the beating of his heart. Elvyr came to stand next to him and the two studied the battlefield. Whitland watched with hooded eyes as a man took down a vampire, but at the cost of two of his companions' lives. They were losing. Their numbers just couldn't compete. He sighed.

Elvyr shifted and spoke. "Is there anything else you can do?" Whitland looked at him and then up into the sky. It was only a couple more hours until the sun rose and the vampires' strength would be weakened. They just needed to last until then. Gazing at the sky, he nodded and with a new drive, stood up.

"I think I know someone who can help." he said with the beginnings of a smile.

Elvyr and Serana exchanged looks. They couldn't just exactly up and leave the battle to go fetch this person, wherever they were, but before they could question his sanity, Whitland took a deep breath. He shouted.

"OD-AH-VIING!"

Nothing happened.

"I don't-" Elvyr started, but then an answering roar filled the air and the shape of a dragon broke through the skies. The red beast landed and the earth quaked from the impact. His crimson eyes examined his surroundings before making a grating noise in his throat. Whitland recognized it as chuckling.

The dragon turned towards him with a feral smile. "Drem Yol Lok Dovahkiin, I see that you have brought me to Grah, or battle as you say." he rumbled.

"I need your help, Odahviing. We fight vampires and Death Hounds and their numbers are against us. We need your fire. We need your claws and teeth. Will you fight with us?"

A puff of smoke escaped his snout. "Geh, Of course, I am dovah." Without another word, Odahviing launched himself into the air and soared over their group.

"Ag! Aus! Dir!" The dragon bellowed before releasing a barrel of flames. Snarls and screams were heard as the mighty hunter roasted his foes alive. A cheer went up from the Dawnguard and its fighters and they all fought with renewed vigor and spirit.

Whitland turned to face Elvyr and Serana. The two were as dumbfounded as when he had shouted up a storm. "Well that should do it." he said dryly and drew his sword from out of the ground. "Let's go join the fun, shall we?" Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted over to add to the chaos. He grinned when he heard their startled cries and beheaded a thrall.

He heard a hiss and whirled around to find another one of the bloodsuckers, but the creature fell down with a blade protruding out of his back. He looked up to find Elvyr's grin mirroring his own with Serana not far behind. He retreated back to her side. "I believe I won our little challenge earlier." he yelled over the clamor of battle. She just rolled her eyes and smiled.

The battle drew on and all the while the sky continued to lighten. The constant fuel to his energy was only the timing of the sun, _just a little longer, _he thought. But no one's body, not even the fabled Dragonborn's, could endure much more. They had been fighting for hours and a body could only take so much abuse. His muscles screamed in protest every time he lifted his sword and his armor took most of the blows instead of his shield.

_Cut. Stab. Hiss. Howl. _Those were the only sounds that mattered anymore and meant anything inside his sleep deprived brain. He couldn't tell if they were winning or losing or if the sky was lighter than before or even if he was still standing. He no longer lived, but survived in this new state of mind.

_Cut. Stab. Hiss. Howl. _On and on it went. A part of him forgot if Serana or Elvyr was by him.

He dragged through the motions, down went another. He lacked feeling in his arms and his vision continued to darken, but he pushed away his fatigue and fell deeper in his mind. He saw flames descend towards him, but he simply welcomed the warmth they brought and went on. Three more fell and didn't get up. Sweat covered every inch of his body. His arm went down. A hound dropped to the ground.

He searched for another opponent and his eyes locked with a vampire. It exposed its fangs at what it was sure to be thinking as easy prey. Whitland watched as his arm let go of his shield. It clattered to the ground and his arm dangled uselessly by his side. He didn't bother trying to pick it back up. The vampire slithered closer and lunged. He sidestepped the attack and cut its arm. The creature snarled and struck him with its dagger.

Whitland grunted when it found an opening in his armor where his ribs would be. The vampire eyes lit up with delight and a sickening smile took hold of its lips as it twisted the blade in his gut. His grip relaxed on his sword and spun away from reach as his form crumpled to the floor. The vampire laughed gleefully and its hand flashed an icy blue. A whirlwind of frost met him and the cold violated his senses. He struggled to get up. The vampire merely smirked at his attempt and left him for dead.

Whitland shook without control. He couldn't feel most of his body and all his mind could process was that he was cold. A thick block of ice if his eyes didn't know better, and his figure went through a violent seizure of shivers. He managed to lift his head up and watch as his attacker walked away. He felt rather than saw it set its sights on Serana. She was unaware and kept fighting. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to sit up. A terrible wring in his gut made a reminder and he clenched his teeth.

He started hearing voices echo in his mind. Voices, he realized, he knew.

"_I don't have any plans leaving you anytime soon." _ _he said to her while he rested in the cave. _

The vampire started creeping up behind her, withdrawing a fresh dagger from its belt. He needed to move faster than this, he thought. He shakily got up to his feet, his whole body trembling at the exertion.

"_You can't get rid of me that easily. I'm not leaving your side." vowed Serana. _

His sword still lied abandoned in the dirt, but he didn't bother trying to get it. There wasn't any time. The creature drew back its arm and he forced himself into a run. He vaguely realized he couldn't feel his legs while he ran. Odd.

"_It's okay, we'll get through this together, all right? I promise." he said while he held her close._

He slammed into the vampire and they both fell to the ground right before the dagger would have found its mark. The creature hissed and Whitland pried the weapon from its hand and threw it away. He was rewarded with a solid punch. Whitland crumpled to the floor and the vampire scrambled to get up. He tackled the creature and repaid the favor by bashing its face with his fist. Once, twice, and the vampire was out cold. With a sharp intake of breath, he ignored the pain and stood up. He tug free the blade from his side and threw it at the body in disgust.

"Forgot something." he murmured. Flames burned at his fingertips and he set the creature ablaze.

He turned to find Serana regarding him. Her eyes flickered back to the dead vampire and back to him. "Was that meant for me?" she said, referring to the burned corpse.

Whitland shrugged and offered her a tired smile. "Technically it still wasn't done with me yet."

She examined him. His armor was covered in blood, had been burned to resemble charcoal, and frost coated its outsides. "Might as well been," She observed, "But thanks."

He nodded, too exhausted to speak, and not sure that he could. His gaze fell to the floor and the dagger that had nearly been her demise. A bright light reflected off its surface and painfully into his eyes. His breathing stopped and his eyes rose painstakingly to the sky.

The sky was now a dull blue with a sun shining brightly in its folds. He and Serana traded looks before his stare turned to their surroundings. His spirits rose even more as he saw the last remains of the vampires and Death Hounds being put down. The battle was over, they had won. A new thought occurred to him and his smile faded.

He began searching the field for Isran and found the battle hardened warrior near the doors to the Fort. Pushing himself to his limits, he jogged over to his position. Isran was smiling when he made it to him, the first of the likes he had seen on the man's face.

"We've won!" Isran said to him in his deep voice. "Soon, bards will be composing songs for this battle, which is yet to be named. What is it you have to say?"

Whitland forced himself to say the words. "Harkon wasn't here and lives still. The threat isn't gone yet."

Isran's smile evaporated and his brow furrowed. "Of course he didn't. That would be too easy. I lost a lot of men out here and we didn't even get the job done. This is a hollow victory." His eyes surveyed the carnage around them and the man sighed.

"No, it wasn't." Whitland said firmly. "All these vampires wanted the end of the sun and that threat is gone. Harkon remains and I wish to strike him now while the iron's still hot."

Isran studied him. "You realize I don't have any men to spare to go with you." he said levelly.

"I do, all I ask is that you tell my men and the Dawnguard to protect the bow while I'm gone. Maybe clean up the gore, have a celebration or two, and perhaps a speech? They deserve it."

Isran's lips curled into a smile. "I'll do that, good luck." he added before he turned away from him and started hollering out orders.

Whitland shook his head with a smile. With a pace that was meant for someone twice his age, he found Serana and Elvyr together resting away from all the destruction they'd created. The Nord smiled at his approach.

"You just missed Odahviing." said Elvyr. "He left a few minutes ago." Whitland only nodded.

"What is it?" asked Serana.

He took a deep breath and tried not to wince from the pain it caused him. "I'm going to Castle Volkihar." He stated and ignored their looks of surprise. "We need to end this. Harkon has to die. You don't have to come-"

"Like Oblivion we're not." Elvyr said and stood up. "I'm not leaving you to die."

Serana stood up also. "I'm coming too."

Whitland smiled. "I was saying that you don't have to come, _but_ the company would be appreciated. It's just going to be the three of us though."

"Fine, but how do you suggest we get there?" asked Elvyr. "Castle Volkihar is on the other side of Skyrim."

"Dragonback." He answered with a smirk.

"But Odahviing just left and I rather not risk irritating a dragon…" said Serana.

"Ah, but you forget he is not the only dragon I know."

Comprehension filled her gaze while Elvyr just seemed confused. "What?"

"DUR-NEH-VIIR!" He shouted.

The Nord covered his ears. "You've got to start warning me when you do that." he complained. Whitland smiled sheepishly.

For the second time that day, a roar echoed throughout the air and a dragon landed in front of them.

"You called, Dovahkiin?" Durnehviir said.

Whitland grinned. "We need a ride."

A/N Sorry for not updating in awhile. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and thanks for the reviews, you guys are awesome. Also, Ag means burn, Aus suffer, and Dir means die.


	8. Chapter 8

The fortress of stone loomed over them; its considerate mass perched atop the island of rock in a way that seemed almost predatory. Nature fought stubbornly against its existence. A blanket of fog hung heavily around the structure just as frost layered its outsides. Down below, choppy waters took swings at the seemingly stationary stone while dark creatures flew above in promising rings of death. A bridge stretched itself out to them, offering them, baiting them, to be swallowed up in its depths.

"Home, sweet home." muttered Elvyr. Wrapped in a dark cocoon of armor, his companions could just barely make out the words from underneath his helmet.

Whitland eyed the castle with disdain. "The taste is rather-"

"Ghastly, twisted, or sinister?" Serana offered archly.

He shrugged. "I was going to say a bit of the flair for the dramatic, but either of those work."

The three of them continued to stare apprehensively at the castle. Elvyr cleared his throat and their eyes turned to him. The Nord gave a nervous smile. "Ladies first, I believe the saying is?"

Serana's eyebrow rose. "What about that Nord saying about honor and glory and never taking the coward's way out?"

"I'm not being cowardly-" Elvyr began to protest, but Whitland cut him off.

"It seems you two have both lost your chances," he pronounced with a roguish smile, "That leaves me to do the honors." He turned to the bridge.

"The gargoyles will attack once they sense you." Serana warned.

His smile only deepened. "Then I will fight darkness with darkness. Watch me, well try to I suppose." He ignored his companions' looks of confusion as he approached the bridge. He came to a halt just at the juncture and counted four of the statues.

He drew his dagger. "I call upon you Lady Nocturnal," he intoned, "Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadow… hear my voice and grant me the shadows."

Darkness engulfed him until it was all he knew, and he swore he heard the light scuffle of a bird's wings. She was listening. There was a touch of ice on his shoulder, and then a puff of purple-orange smoke as she gave in to his request. Soon after the shadow melted away and he squinted as dots danced across his vision from the harsh light. He tried to shake off the lingering feeling of cold in his skin, but it proved obstinate. Deciding to ignore it, he bent down into a crouching position and with a flash of light, he disappeared.

He smiled as he heard the gasps. All that was seen of him was a flicker of movement, but otherwise, he was completely invisible. Slowly, he crept towards the first statue and watched as the rock suddenly cracked and burst off the gargoyle like it was hatching from an egg. The creature could sense his presence nearby, and took a few plodding steps forward.

He carefully padded up behind the beast. Oblivious, the creature continued to stand where it was, and he could hear its heavy breathing through its nostrils. His hand clutched the grip of his dagger tight, and he moved into standing position. The spell was broken.

With a flash, he materialized and struck hard with his blade. The gargoyle flinched and fell to the ground with a dagger lodged inside its back. Wrenching the blade free, he crouched back down and vanished once more to do the same thing to the other statues, and each creature went down in one strike. He reached the end of the bridge and allowed himself to reappear. He smiled at his friends, all teeth.

"And that's how it's done. Ladies first, I believe it goes?" he said and made a grand gesture towards the entrance.

Elvyr's jaw was slack, but Serana simply rolled her eyes and walked with poise across the bridge. She halted when she made it to him. Her bright eyes held his. "You're a cocky, overconfident ass." She informed him, but he saw the smile in her eyes.

He gave a theatrical bow. "At your service, milady."

Her lips twitched, but the smile was whipped off her face like she'd been struck. The reality of their trip seemed to have hit her. They were here to kill her father and a castle of other vampires she knew. As Elvyr joined them, the mood turned sober.

"So this is it…" she breathed, taking in the whole castle's sight. Her gaze flickered to the Nord as he clapped a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"It is," said Elvyr, "And I understand this is hard. No one wants to kill their father," he swallowed, perhaps remembering the death of his father at his own hands, "But it's the right thing to do in this case, I promise you."

Serana nodded at the Nord's words, but the grief was ever present in her eyes. "We'll be here with you." Whitland added, but his eyes said, _you can still turn back_.

Ever so slowly, she shook her head. She took a deep breath and released the words in a sigh. "Let's go." Only then did they move toward the double doors and allowed Castle Volkihar to devour them whole.

Inside, they remained unseen as they observed the layout of the main chambers from above the staircase. Seated at a long pair of tables, they watched as a group of vampires munched on human flesh and bones, rinsing it all down with a goblet of blood. The smell of rotting corpses lathered the air.

"I don't get it." Elvyr whispered. "Vampires have strong senses, so how can they stand this stench?"

Serana shifted next to him. "Imagine coming home and smelling dinner," she explained, "It's the same concept." Serana's nose wrinkled. "Unless of course it's old, then it just smells stale." Her companions shuddered.

"Alright, enough." said Whitland, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Elvyr and him both winced when there was a loud crunch heard from down below. "Plans of attack anyone?"

"I don't know," Serana admitted. "There are probably more of them sleeping in their coffins, and maybe a hound or two. We'll eventually be detected one way or another."

"Elvyr?"

The warrior shrugged. "Charge and attack is the traditional Nord way."

"Well, I'm fresh out of ideas. I suppose we should announce ourselves."

Elvyr was on his feet with his greatsword in hand before he could finish speaking. With a fearsome war cry, the Nord charged down the steps and into the hall of vampires. Hisses sounded at his appearance and sharp rings of metal were heard as weapons were drawn. All other sound was lost amidst the noise of battle.

Serana and him traded looks.

"Nords." She sighed as her only explanation. He grinned before the two raced to catch up with their companion. At their arrival, vampires flooded into the main hall and the air was a fine mist of blood.

For the most part, he avoided any lethal encounters, but his magic was as good as useless. He had been drained like a human soul gem from how much magicka it had taken to heal Elvyr and Serana. Afterwards, he had only been able patch himself back together. In his state now, he could not even summon a single spark to his fingertips. But on he pushed, ignoring the aches and pains his body lamented and the twisting of his gut.

"Where do you think Harkon is?" grunted Elvyr as he beheaded a vampire with a mighty swing from his sword.

Before he had the chance to speak, a Death Hound set its grinning jowls on him and lunged. Its claws found purchase in his armor and they both went tumbling to the ground. Struggling to keep the dog at bay, he drew the dagger from his belt and buried the blade up to the hilt into the creature's skull. There was a whimper and then the hound's grip retracted. He pushed the corpse off in disgust.

He forced himself back up to his feet and freed his sword from its scabbard. There was a loud _crack_ from somewhere around him and he stifled a groan as a jagged cord of energy found him as its target. The flesh on his sword arm seared. His teeth were gritted when he replied. "Can't say I know the guy well. Serana?"

She was currently reanimating a dead body with one hand while she sent spikes of ice flying with the other. "I wish I could say it was beneath him to hide away and let everyone else fight, but most likely he's waiting in the cathedral for one of his court to find him when they're done."

There was no more time for speaking as they slowly began to lose ground and were pushed back into a room. There, only one vampire could manage at a time to get through the door frame. A pile of dead corpses began to steadily rise from the entrance and made itself the perfect barricade, giving them a brief time to rest.

His mind thought quickly. They could not risk Harkon joining the battle out here. They needed him alone where they could focus all of their attention on him. The question was, would Harkon even leave the cathedral to help his court in battle? It didn't sound like his character, but the man was willing do anything to fulfill the prophecy, even kill his own daughter. They needed to-

"You guys go," said Elvyr, "I'll hold the fort down over here."

His companions' eyes swept dubiously over the horde of vampires. There was more than triple their numbers left, and Elvyr would be at the distinct disadvantage.

"No," said Whitland firmly and Serana nodded her agreement, "We are not leaving you."

"You have no choice." argued Elvyr. "Someone's going to have to face Harkon and end this." He crossed his arms. "I am a warrior, and a Nord no less, if this is how I go, Sovngarde will be roaring its glory at my welcome. There is no finer way to die this day."

Whitland was silent, but his eyes never left the Nord as he thought it over. "Fine," he said in defeat, "But allow me to at least clear the way." Elvyr nodded. Serana and him watched as he took in a deep, shuddering breath and turned towards the entrance.

"FUS RO DAH!" he bellowed, his voice sending the vampires crashing through the air like a bunch of rag dolls. They landed in a sprawled heap of limbs at the far end of the chamber. Elvyr walked with them out and dryly observed as the vampires began to move sluggishly. His companions only got a second glance as the Nord drew a throwing knife from his belt just as the first vampire managed to stand. Then the bare wall blocked their view and they were moving through the castle, killing any stray vampires on their way.

Down the hallway and up a length of stairs, they soon found themselves at the gates to the cathedral. Serana found the lever nearby and lifted the portcullis. Neither moved as the wooden doors loomed before them.

His mouth went dry. "Ladies first?" he joked in an attempt to lighten the air that was suddenly smothering his windpipe.

Serana didn't hear him; her eyes were fixed on the door before them.

He dropped the act and stepped closer. His hand met her shoulder; she jumped. "Hey," he said softly, "I know I said it already, but you don't have to do this."

Her eyes were stone hard and impossible to read. "No," her voice firm, "I do." Her eyes caught his and the sharpness in them faded a little. "Don't do anything stupid." she added.

He smiled. "No promises, but I'll do my best," he drew his hand away, "As long as you're careful too."

She nodded and they turned to the doors.

It was time for the tyranny to end.

A/N I decided to make it two parts. It felt really repetitive saying they go into the castle, into the main hall, into the room and then outside the doors to the cathedral. Something needed to be done. Kind of a boring chapter, sorry if I disappoint, but the next one should be up soon. Meaning we all know in translation; another week at least. Hopefully this will sate the flames of your impatience and fury. Or not.

Anyway…

You guys sticking with me is the only reason really this story goes on, so thank you for the continuance of reviews and views of this story. Any suggestions of course are gladly accepted, although I have a few ideas…


	9. Chapter 9

The cathedral was a stone barren room of sunken gray and the only light sifted through the cracks of the small windows to cast a beam of light in the front center of the chamber. The ray of light fell and caught the gleaming crimson liquid that flowed from the head of the statue to gather in a pool at the basin of the fountain. Reflected in its depths and dressed in his normal robes, Harkon stood at the foot of the fountain with his back to them, observing the spring of blood.

He did not seem to care for their presence, for he continued staring at his source of musing as if nothing had changed. Neither of them spoke and the only sound in the chamber was the slow trickle of the fountain. But a noise arose. A faint, erratically beating noise that Whitland could only claim as his heart. He couldn't quite hold the same dead silence as they could.

Harkon shifted and seemed to have awakened from his trance, but only to speak. "This is the shrine of Molag Bal." he said to no one in particular. His eyes traced the path of red. "He gave us this gift, this immortality and power. He believed the weak must be killed by the strong." At those words, Harkon finally turned to face them. His eyes were glazed over from his obsession. "This will come as I promised."

His gaze leveled on Serana and the glassy look in his eyes receded. "Ah, Serana, my darling," he said, stepping down and spreading his arms out as if to welcome her. His eyes happened to flicker towards Whitland and his progress stilled. He stared.

The glazed look came burning back at full force, and Harkon's lip curled. "I see you still favor keeping a pet." He finished stiffly.

Whitland refrained from commenting, although the masculine part of him made the action difficult. As far as he was concerned, he was way better than a tag along buddy.

Serana kept her composure, but he could sense her steeling her resolve. "You know why we're here." she stated calmly.

Harkon nodded. "Of course I do. You disappoint me Serana. You've taken everything I've provided for you and thrown it all away for this…pathetic being. He threatens us."

Serana's eyes were aflame. "Provided for me? Are you insane? You've destroyed our family! You've killed other vampires! All for some prophecy we barely understand?" Her form shook from her rage. "No more, I am done with you and you will not touch him." Her voice broke no argument.

Harkon's eyes drifted over to him to spare him a glance before returning. "So, I see this dragon has fangs. Your voice drips with the venom of your mother's influence, Serana. How alike you've become."

Serana straightened and her voice was even. "No, because unlike her, I'm not afraid of you, not anymore."

Harkon's eyes were blackened pits and he refocused all of his attention onto him. "It appears I have you to thank for turning my daughter against me." he said to Whitland. "How she refuses to see the bigger picture. I've given everything for our family."

Whitland could not believe what he was hearing. "I'll kill you." he said quietly. It was a promise.

Harkon waved him away. "Yes, yes, always the noble one." He grew more serious. "And what happens when you've slain me? Is Valerica next? Is Serana?" With every word said, Harkon's wrath seemed to build.

"I would never harm Serana. This is about more than killing vampires."

Harkon's eyes flashed. "You misunderstand. This has little to do with vampires, but everything to do with Serana." His figure trembled. "You wish to stop me from taking Auriel's bow and shrouding the world in darkness? Then you will die!" Harkon's form exploded and floating in his place was the grotesque Vampire Lord.

Its hand glowed red and Whitland was yanked into the air before him and hung by his throat. The air was knocked out of him and his mouth parted to draw in a breath, but none came. His lungs began burning from the lack of oxygen and the edges of his vision were fringed in darkness. Grasping feebly at the magic that held him, his arms became too heavy and fell uselessly to his sides. His eyes flickered close for a second before fluttering open, but it was a losing battle.

A blurry shape suddenly raced across his vision and he heard a scream followed by a resonating crack. His body was released from its hold and he collapsed onto the stone floor wheezing. He drew in a long, shuddering breath before descending into a fit of coughing. Spots filled his vision, but he forced himself to stand. There could still be danger. He made it to his knees before toppling back over to the ground. He didn't have the strength.

The room spun around him in sickening circles as he fought to keep in the contents of his stomach. Trembling, his hands lifted his cuirass up over his head and threw it away. He gasped and lied there, breathing heavily through his mouth, before he once again made to stand. He swayed on his feet but caught himself, and waited for his vision to clear enough to make sense of his surroundings. His eyes widened when they did.

Serana lied braced on the back of the wall, still and unmoving, with blood dripping down from the crown of her head and down her face. But that wasn't even the worst. A rake of claws had ripped through her armor and lay open across her chest. Ribbons of blood streamed forth and the liquid gathered in a puddle beneath her.

He stumbled and made it a couple steps before his legs buckled underneath him and he crumpled to the floor. The last few yards he made it by crawling. Dragging himself over to her side, he went to check her pulse, but realized the action was redundant. Cursing, he scanned the room, but Harkon seemed mysteriously absent and he found he couldn't find a reason to care.

He pulled Serana into his lap and tried to summon a healing spell, but his fingertips merely glowed before dying out. He voiced his frustration and helplessly watched as the life bled out of her and painted the ground and him red.

There was only one thing left he could do; only one spell he could still perform. He drew on his last vestiges of strength and his hands, dyed red from her blood, shook as he cast it. His wounds that had crusted over tore open and bled. His face paled and his vision was just as quickly losing color. All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears and throughout his entire body. He held on for as long as he could until he had to cut the spell off. He drew in a ragged breath, choked, and hacked up blood. Uncaring, he raised his hands and made the appropriate motion.

They shone a soothing white.

His smile was more of a grimace. He drew his hands to her body and watched the skin knit back together to become whole once more. He erased the damage done to her chest, but could only close the wound on her head. That was all he could do for her. Slumping against the wall, he closed his eyes as he swam on the brink of unconsciousness.

"You are foolish mortal." Whitland's eyes snapped open. No one was in the chamber, except for a fine layer of the mist that must have come through the windows. "Her blood is precious, but there is no point in saving her. Death is her savior, it has been foretold."

Gritting his teeth, Whitland grabbed the wall for support and climbed to his feet. "Show yourself!" he yelled; his chest heaving and his throat hoarse.

There was a pause and then the mist began thickening near the base of the fountain until fully solidifying. Harkon appeared, still in his Vampire Lord form, and looking completely refreshed. Whitland's hands tightened into fists, another one of his powers apparently.

Roaring, Whitland pulled his sword free from its sheath and made a dive for him. Harkon and him crashed to the ground and his blade was sent scattering across the room. They grappled for control and even as Harkon's claws dug into his flesh, his hold was iron. Fingers tore into the skin around his gut and Whitland's howl was painfully animal like. Harkon's smile was feral. His claws burrowed into the wound and Whitland's grip went limp. He held in a scream, and Harkon had him pinned in seconds.

He held him easily as Whitland struggled to break free. "So frail," said Harkon. "You should regret turning down the power I had offered you." Whitland continued squirming under his grasp. Disfigured hands came slamming into his chest to hold him in place. "Look at me when I speak!" Whitland had no choice but to look into his acid yellow eyes. Harkon drew his hand back. "And now, I shall end your pathetic existence." His hand shrouded in magic.

Whitland coolly locked gazes with him. "And to end your daughter's life as well?"

The magic guttered out and died. Confusion glittered in the glaze of Harkon's eyes. He shook his head furiously. "NO! I'm doing what's best for all of our kind! I must bring an end to the sun!"

"And Serana you must sacrifice for it to happen."

"Lies!" Harkon seethed, but the uncertainty lied in his eyes. "All will be fine as long as the prophecy is fulfilled!"

He wondered if Harkon truly had a grasp on his sanity. Had his power turned him to madness? Whitland jerked his head in the direction of Serana. "Did you not almost kill her already?" he challenged.

Harkon stared at the broken outline of his daughter's form. Lucidity seeped into his eyes and his grip slackened. Whitland ripped his arm free and let his fist slam into the vampire's face. Harkon recoiled before pressing the sharp pads of his fingers into his wound. Whitland writhed in pain and his fingers clasped around the vampire's wrist. His hands began to burn like glowing coals. Harkon's skin smoked.

The vampire hissed and released him. Whitland caught a glimpse of his blade and scrambled across the ground. He heard a flurry of wings behind him and his eyes searched wildly around the chamber. He had just seen it! Where could it be? He turned and a sharp point dug into the skin at his neck. His eyes followed the length of his blade to find Harkon holding it. The Vampire Lord smiled and the glassy look in his eyes was back for good.

"Die!" Harkon sneered and brought the blade back to behead him.

Before he could, a sword entered his chest. Harkon's eyes flew to him and Whitland tugged the conjured blade free.

"I couldn't agree more." stated Whitland and waited for the life to fade from his eyes before allowing the sword to dissipate. He smiled, and his teeth were stained red.

Clutching his side, his face contorted into a look of pain. He pulled his hand away to find it was coated in blood. A red light flashed somewhere in the edges of his vision before he wobbled and fell to the floor. He blacked out.

Whitland felt something being pressed to his lips and swallowed. His throat seared. He sat up coughing, and groaned as his body throbbed with pain. His vision swirled before refocusing and he made out Serana kneeling next to him. He let himself relax, but realized the lighting was far too dark for them to be in the cathedral anymore.

"Where are we?" he asked, surprised that his throat didn't hurt when he spoke. In fact, it felt perfectly fine. He spotted a healing potion on the ground beside him and added the two together. His gaze was drawn back to Serana.

"We're in the hall outside the doors to the cathedral." she answered. "I've been trying to keep you and Elvyr alive these past few hours."

Whitland allowed himself to lie back down. On closer inspection, he noticed that her armor had been repaired and she seemed to be making a full recovery. "How is Elvyr doing?"

"He was close to death when I found him, but nowhere near the state you were in. He hasn't woken yet, but he should be fine."

Whitland closed his eyes. "Good," he exhaled, "And you? How are you doing?" He managed to crack a smile. "Holding up with all the blood?"

"A little weak, but I'm probably doing the best out of the three of us. All I have is a little head pain and a headache here or there." She sighed. "As for the blood, it isn't that bad. The worst is over now that you're no longer staining the stones red. I found a blood potion in the castle and take a few sips whenever it gets hard."

"Mmm." he replied and felt himself about to nod off. He felt Serana shake him. Unhappily, he forced his eyes open to look at her. "What?" he asked weakly, hearing the deep stirrings of sleep.

Serana's bright amber eyes were concerned. "You can't go to sleep right away." she said softly. "You might not wake back up."

His eyes opened a little further. "I see." he said mildly. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and leaned against the wall for support. He clenched his jaw as his wounds were jostled from the movement and his hands grasped at his side.

Looking exasperated, Serana pushed his hands aside and pulled the tattered hem of his shirt up to see. A white bandage had been taped to his wound to prevent infection and allow the gash to seal over. Blood had seeped out and blotted the cloth in dark patches of crimson.

"Your wound reopened." said Serana distractedly. Her eyes had turned dark, almost as black as her pupils. She took a breath to steady herself. "I'll have to put a fresh one on."

He said nothing, not until she ripped the bandage off in one sharp yank. His side stung and his breath escaped through gritted teeth. "What was that for?" he managed.

Serana regarded him calmly. "That was for almost dying and getting into this state. It's the only thing I can do to you right now without you bleeding out. Didn't you bring any health potions with you?"

"Didn't you?"

"Yes, I had to use them all on Elvyr and you, and that wasn't even enough. You're avoiding the question." she accused. She grabbed a roll of cloth and tore a new bandage to wrap the wound.

"Guilty," he admitted cheerfully and watched as she patched him up. Her fingers were cold and pleasant on his skin. "But you know me. I rather have the thousand year old potion I found in a burial tomb than anything I cooked up."

"What would you have done without me?" she muttered, but he heard her.

"I don't know." he said, and his eyes were serious. "That's why I have you."

Serana paused in her work, her entire body frozen. She risked a look at him and a tension filled the air that was almost thick enough to bottle. Her touch was sudden electricity on his skin and their eyes caught. Her lips parted, but a groan stopped whatever she was going to say. With quick efficiency, she finished taping up his wound and headed over to Elvyr. For the first time since waking up, Whitland finally took notice of him. The Nord was tossing and turning in his sleep and perspiration beaded on his head. However, it appeared all of his injuries had been tended to and healed.

Serana felt his forehead and swore quietly to herself. "I think he has a fever, but it's hard to tell." she said and gestured to her naturally cold hands.

"Perhaps you should make a comparison?" he suggested innocently. "I believe I have no fever as of yet."

She raised an eyebrow at his boldness, but consented and scooted over to him until there was almost no space to eliminate between the two. He could feel her breath on his face and watched as she placed the back of her hand on his forehead with a look of complete concentration. His eyes slipped close on their own accord.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" she murmured, making him come back to reality.

His eyes opened to find her staring at him, her hand still on his head. He smiled at her tiredly. "Never."

A tiny smile appeared on her face, but it was strained. Up close, he could see the light circles starting to appear underneath her eyes and the raw pain hidden in her expression. He sobered up quick. It was not the time to share jokes and laughs with her father's killer.

Serana seemed to sense the change within him. She withdrew her hand and the moment was lost. She went back over to Elvyr and rechecked his temperature. His thrashing from earlier had stopped now and now laid quite still, his breathing deep and sound. Serana's lips pressed together to make a line. "I was right, he has a fever." she confirmed.

"What can we do?"

She shrugged. "There's nothing much I can do. I'll put a wet piece of cloth on his forehead and let it pass. I'm out of stock in potions."

He nodded and watched as she did it, his eyes growing impossibly heavier by the second. It was through half lidded eyes when he saw her come back over and take a seat next to him against the castle wall. It was quiet and he hated it. Hated this feeling of self loathing.

"I'm sorry," he grated, knowing Serana would realize what he was talking about. He felt her draw closer to his side and suddenly felt the cold emanating in waves from her body. It sent a small shock to his system, and his eyes opened fully for a handful of seconds before returning to their earlier state. She shifted.

"It's okay," she said, her tone hushed and sad, "It had to be done." She wasn't convincing.

His eyes were shut, but he drew an arm around her and brought her close. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice laced tight with the pain he had caused her.

He felt her head rest on his shoulder. "I know," she said. "You're forgiven." She sounded as tired as he felt. Feeling more at peace with himself, Whitland allowed the warm blanket of sleep envelope his mind just as Serana did the same next to him. A few thoughts drifted across his mind before he went out like a light; Harkon had fallen. The threat was over.

How foolish he was.

A/N As you can see, I changed up the battle between Harkon and the Dragonborn. Also you might be able to tell that the story is far from over yet… I haven't even started the next chapter yet so don't be expecting miracle work. Please send reviews, they're always greatly appreciated. Heck, half the time I wonder if anyone even reads my author notes (I've been guilty of such crimes), send me review just saying you read this.

Your Author,

M.M.

To add, I'm thinking of changing the name of this story. I made the first title in bad humor, not because I thought it actually did it any justice. Open to suggestions.


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